Steelhaven 02 - The Shattered Crown

by Richard Ford

  ‘My lords,’ she said, gripping the back of her seat. Each of the four men bowed.

  On one side of the table stood General Hawke and Marshal Farren of the Knights of the Blood. Each looked wearier and more haggard than the last time she had seen them. They must have seen much battle in the intervening days. Hawke in particular looked like an old man in his heavy armour, his beard filthy and unkempt.

  To the other side stood Lord Marshal Ryder in his bronze armour. Next to him was a tall man, broad at the shoulder and fierce in the eye who must have been Duke Bannon Logar of Valdor. He was about as old as Hawke, and his white armour was battered and rent, but he looked ready to do battle right here and now. As Janessa looked at him she thought at first he looked nothing like his son, the late Lord Raelan Logar, but then the old man smiled, and the family resemblance was obvious.

  ‘Duke Logar, Majesty,’ said Lord Marshal Ryder, gesturing at the old man. Janessa proffered him a nod and he returned it.

  ‘It is good to finally meet you, my lord,’ she said. ‘I have heard much of your bravery. A trait you clearly shared with your son.’

  A flicker of sadness crossed Bannon’s face. ‘Thank you, Majesty. I know he thought highly of you.’

  Janessa wasn’t exactly sure how much of that was true but she acknowledged his comment with a smile. ‘Shall we?’ she asked, gesturing to the chairs. When she had sat, the four men took their places at the table.

  There was a moment’s silence before Janessa realised that she was leading the meeting. She was entirely in charge of proceedings. These men were her war council and they would only speak at her command.

  But what would she ask? She had not been trained in the ways of war. What little she had learned of men and supplies over the last few weeks would scarcely be adequate here.

  ‘Tell me where we stand,’ said Janessa.

  Seems as good a way to start as any.

  None of them appeared eager to speak. General Hawke seemed interested in the polished sheen of the table. Marshal Farren glanced to Duke Logar who took a deep breath before beginning.

  ‘Not in an advantageous position, Majesty, all truth be told,’ said Bannon. ‘No mercenaries are left within the city. Since we have no money to pay them, they have abandoned Steelhaven to its fate.’

  ‘Bloody cowards,’ muttered Marshal Farren, but Bannon ignored him.

  ‘We estimate the Khurtas are no more than a day’s ride to the north. They will be here soon. Within the city our troops are fatigued, but ready to fight. Lord Marshal Ryder has three hundred Wyvern Guard, Marshal Farren another two hundred Knights of the Blood. General Hawke and I have only five thousand foot and one thousand horse remaining between us, with which to defend the city walls. Our position is grave, Majesty. There are most likely more than forty thousand Khurtas making their way here. I wish I could give you some news to cheer you, tell you we had allies, but there’s no one coming to assist us.’

  ‘Thank you, Duke Logar,’ replied Janessa. ‘That is most … enlightening.’

  More silence, until Tannick Ryder cleared his throat. ‘The walls of Steelhaven are high, Majesty. Impregnable, some say. Amon Tugha’s Khurtas are savages from the steppes of the north; they have no skill at besieging fortress cities.’

  General Hawke shook his head. ‘Don’t underestimate them,’ said the old man. ‘They razed Touran and they’ve taken us by surprise at every turn. They have magicks, they have engines of war and they have the Elharim warlord.’

  ‘What’s the matter with you?’ said Lord Marshal Ryder. ‘You sound as if you’re scared of him. He’s one man leading a bunch of barbarians.’

  Duke Logar laid a hand on Tannick’s forearm. ‘General Hawke speaks true. I wish it wasn’t so, but we’ve seen it. On their own, the Khurtas would be easy pickings, but under Amon Tugha they are a force to be reckoned with. They have dogged our every step from Dreldun. He’s outwitted us in every battle.’

  ‘He won’t outwit us here,’ said Tannick

  ‘How can you be sure?’ replied Marshal Farren, staring from beneath a creased brow, left eye twitching, his red gauntleted fist clenching as he banged on the table. ‘You weren’t there. You haven’t seen him.’

  Tannick Ryder glared across the oak table. ‘I’ll see him soon enough.’

  Janessa had witnessed about as much of their posturing as she could bear. If this was what it meant to convene a meeting of her council, she could well do without it.

  ‘My lords,’ she said, and was relieved when they stopped their bickering and looked at her. ‘I understand you and the armies you lead have been through a great deal these past weeks, and much has been sacrificed for us. For that we are grateful. But Lord Marshal Ryder is correct. We need to look ahead. We must find a way to defeat Amon Tugha and his horde, not dwell on past defeats.’

  ‘Indeed, Majesty,’ said Duke Logar. ‘We will find a way.’

  Janessa nodded her thanks to him, but as she did so she felt a sudden spasm in her gut. Marshal Farren began to speak, but Janessa could barely hear his words. She glanced towards Kaira, who stood motionless a few feet away. Janessa was suddenly desperate to catch Kaira’s eye, but her bodyguard seemed to be listening intently to what Farren was saying and failed to notice.

  The room began to swim as the pain in her belly grew. Something stabbed at her from the inside and it took all her will to quell a cry of pain. She could not show weakness in front of these men. She was their queen and despite their experience in war it was expected she would lead them.

  Lord Marshal Ryder had joined in now, speaking over Farren. It appeared the two men were at loggerheads but all Janessa could hear was a torrent in her ears. She clenched her fists, her nails digging into her palms. It was no good; she could stand it no longer.

  ‘My lords,’ she said, rising to her feet. The four men halted their bickering and instantly stood up. ‘I am feeling …’ Another stab at her loins. ‘We will continue this later.’

  As she turned, Kaira was at her shoulder, but Janessa shook her head as her bodyguard tried to aid her. Fighting the pain with every step, Janessa walked from the war room as best she could and Kaira closed the door behind her. As soon as it was shut Janessa collapsed against the wall, gritting her teeth in agony.

  How she made it back to her chamber she had no idea – she moved through the corridors in a daze. The pain was almost unbearable and it took all her will not to scream.

  Once in her chamber Janessa slumped on to her bed. Something ran down her leg as another white-hot stab of pain coursed within her.

  ‘What is it, Majesty? Shall I summon the surgeon?’

  ‘Yes,’ Janessa screamed, any thoughts of keeping her unborn child a secret outweighed by her fear and pain.

  She pulled up her skirts, feeling blood running in a steady flow between her legs. Kaira had already rushed for assistance, but as the agony inside Janessa reached a peak she knew it was too late.

  FIFTY-TWO

  Kaira had dragged the surgeon from his bed. In the end, however, nothing could be done to save the child. Janessa had wailed and thrashed as the surgeon made sure she did not bleed to death. As Governess Nordaine and the surgeon did their best to calm the queen, Kaira gathered the tiny body in a discarded blanket and held it in her hands. It weighed almost nothing and was small enough to fit in her palm.

  Once Janessa had calmed and succumbed to the mercy of sleep, Kaira asked Nordaine to take away the small body, sure that the governess would treat it with the care it deserved. Before the surgeon left, Kaira reminded him of the need for discretion. He gave no word of argument to that.

  Once he was gone, Kaira watched over Janessa as she slept. The girl would have to cope with her loss, and it was another battle she would have to fight alone. It only served to make Kaira feel helpless, knowing how little she could do for the girl she was charged to protect.

  After what seemed like hours, Janessa finally stirred, and Kaira moved to her bedside, laying a hand on the queen�
��s brow. The girl opened her eyes and looked at Kaira, at first hardly comprehending what she saw.

  ‘It’s me, my queen. It’s Kaira.’

  Janessa gave no response, but glanced away towards the window. Tears were beginning to well up in her eyes and Kaira could see her anguish.

  What was she supposed to say? What was she supposed to do?

  Kaira sat on the bed beside Janessa and stroked her red curls, now matted and unkempt.

  ‘There is nothing to fear, Majesty. Your child is safe with Vorena now.’

  Janessa said nothing.

  Kaira was filled with pity for her. The young queen had lost so much, and so recently. Not just her child, but also her father and her most trusted advisor.

  She was just a girl, lost and alone, charged with facing a battle-hardened warlord with a sorely depleted army. It was a responsibility Kaira would not have wished on anyone.

  ‘Is it a clear day?’ asked Janessa.

  Kaira looked down at this girl who seemed so small and vulnerable. This girl with the weight of a kingdom on her shoulders.

  ‘I … I do not know, Majesty,’ she replied, rising and moving to the window.

  Kaira looked out onto the Crown District and the city beyond. There was bustle and noise drifting in from the north. The city knew what was coming and it did not lament. It moved with urgency, preparing itself. Over it was a grey sky, the winter chill giving the air a strange calm.

  The calm before the storm.

  ‘No, Majesty. The sky is dark, but—’

  ‘It is no matter,’ said Janessa, and Kaira turned to see she had risen from her bed. She stood unsteadily, using the bedpost for support, but there was a determined look to her eyes. ‘It is still a good day. A day for a new beginning.’

  Kaira moved towards her. ‘Majesty, you must rest.’

  ‘I’ve rested enough, Kaira. I’ve hidden from this for far too long. I’ve filled my head with worthless thoughts. That will all change.’

  Kaira wanted to argue. To tell her that she didn’t need to do this now, that there would be time aplenty later. That she had time to mourn her loss.

  But she didn’t. The Khurtas were almost here. The time for rest had passed. If the people of Steelhaven were hoping for some miracle to come and save them, they would be disappointed. The only thing that would save them was grit and fight and sacrifice.

  ‘What would you have me do, Majesty?’

  Janessa fixed Kaira with a determined stare. ‘I will need armour. Armour fit for a queen. And my sword.’

  Kaira smiled. ‘Yes, Majesty,’ she said.

  Janessa smiled back, and in that moment Kaira felt proud. Felt ready to follow this young girl anywhere she would lead.

  FIFTY-THREE

  Captain Garret had told Merrick how sorry he was to lose him, how he’d have been proud to have Merrick among the Sentinels when the Khurtas arrived. Merrick didn’t believe him. This was what Garret had wanted all along – for Merrick to be reconciled with his father, for them to be together, side-by-side, fighting for queen and kingdom.

  It wasn’t quite so simple though – this was no reconciliation, after all. There was no hugging one another and lamenting the lost years. This was just a chance for Merrick to prove his worth. To show his father what he was made of. He had a long way to go, but it was a start.

  And it was a bloody painful start and no mistake.

  Merrick knelt in the middle of the courtyard, surrounded by armoured Wyvern Guard. It might not have been so bad if he hadn’t been stripped to the waist. He’d seen these bastards stripped down themselves, and there wasn’t a one of them didn’t have a better shape to him than Merrick. In itself, that might not have been so bad – if it wasn’t for one of them tapping holes in his arm with a needle.

  Tattoos were for whores and sailors, or so Merrick had always thought. Clearly he’d been mistaken, because they were for the Wyvern Guard too. The bloke beside him had been going at his shoulder for an age, and Merrick had long since started sweating from the pain. It hadn’t been so bad at first, and he thought he’d be able to handle it no problem, but as time went on it started to hurt like the hells and Merrick had taken to clenching everything he had that would bloody clench.

  Keep it together, he’d told himself, this won’t last forever. It was weird how slow time seemed to go when you were in constant fucking agony.

  ‘Done,’ said the tattooist, wiping the blood from Merrick’s arm with a rag.

  ‘Thanks,’ Merrick replied, suppressing what he actually wanted to say, his shoulder burning like it was on fire.

  Tannick walked forward, carrying his massive sword, his helmet covering most of his face.

  ‘Stand,’ he said, his voice stern and commanding.

  Merrick rose to his feet, doing his best not to show any discomfort. He was being inducted into an order that showed no pain or fear. Now wasn’t the time for whining.

  ‘You bear the mark,’ said Tannick. ‘But do you bear the will to serve?’

  Merrick had already been drilled in the ceremony and knew the words. Whether he believed them or not was another matter.

  ‘I bear the will,’ he replied. ‘And the courage.’

  ‘Show me,’ said Tannick holding out the sword.

  Merrick didn’t hesitate. He’d never been surer of anything in his life. There had been a time, and not too long ago, when he would have baulked at this, taken the piss, laughed at the solemnity of it all. Not now.

  With his right hand he grasped the blade, feeling its keen edge break the skin of his palm. It stung, but only for a second, as he removed his hand and made a fist. Without waiting for instruction, he walked to the barrel that sat in the centre of the courtyard and held his hand over it. He could smell the wine inside. How he wanted to just stick his head in and take a long gulp of it. But he didn’t; he held his hand over the barrel and let the blood run from his fist until he could squeeze out no more.

  About a dozen Wyvern Guard walked forwards then, each one holding a goblet. Merrick saw that one of them was Cormach, the man who had bested him so easily in the palace gardens. Each man dipped in his cup and then held it up.

  ‘Wyvern Guard,’ said Tannick. ‘We have a new brother. Let his blood mix with yours, now as it will in battle.’

  With that the dozen knights drank deep of their cups, swilled the wine around their mouths and then one after the other spat it back into the barrel. Merrick noted that Cormach swallowed his mouthful and just spat in a gob of phlegm, but then what had he expected?

  When they’d finished, one of the knights offered him a goblet. Again Merrick didn’t hesitate, dipping it into the wine barrel. As he raised the full goblet to his lips all he could hope was that he hadn’t fished out Cormach’s gobbet. Thankfully, as it went down it just tasted of wine, and he drank deep, gulping it as if it was the last drink he’d ever have.

  He was surrounded then. Someone took the goblet from his hands and the dozen knights began to deck him in armour. Gauntlets, vambraces, greaves, breastplate and the rest, all strapped on. The lad who buckled the rerebrace to his upper arm was none too gentle either and Merrick fought back a grimace against the pain from his new tattoo.

  When they’d finished they stood back, revealing Tannick standing there with that bloody great sword again. Bludsdottr they called it, an ancient name for an ancient blade.

  ‘You’ve shared our blood, Merrick Ryder. Are you with us until death?’

  There was silence. This was it, devoting his life to this crowd of nutcases.

  It was all he’d ever wanted

  ‘I am with you. Beyond death and to the hells,’ Merrick replied, kneeling and kissing the blade Tannick held in his hands.

  With that a cheer went up from the gathered Wyvern Guard. Each man came forward to pat Merrick on the back or hug him in brotherhood. It reminded him a little of his days in the Collegium of House Tarnath where he’d learned to fight. Back then, he’d never appreciated any of the camaraderie, cons
idering himself above it – but this was different. This felt like he belonged, not least because his father was in charge here. And because he’d been given the choice of joining with these men, not forced into it at an early age, whether he liked it or not.

  As he was welcomed by his fellow knights Merrick could see his father standing and watching.

  Was that a smile on the old bastard’s face?

  No, you must have just imagined it.

  As the knights laughed and helped themselves to wine, clearly none too concerned about what exactly they were sharing, Tannick walked over.

  ‘You’re one of us now, lad,’ he said. ‘Make me proud.’

  ‘I will,’ Merrick replied. ‘Don’t worry about that.’

  They looked at each other, and for a moment Merrick wondered if his father was searching for any sign of doubt. It was too late now, though; he’d taken the mark and said the words. Merrick wasn’t about to show any regrets. When his father eventually gave a nod, Merrick knew he’d passed the test.

  ‘There’ll be chance to prove yourself soon enough,’ said Tannick. ‘I for one can’t wait.’

  With that he turned and, as he did, Merrick spotted something of a mad glint in his eye. Whether he should be worried about that, only time would tell.

  As he stood there, Merrick sensed someone at his shoulder. He turned to see Cormach Whoreson glaring at him with dark eyes, his face looking anything but welcoming.

  ‘One of us now, are you?’ he asked.

  Merrick glanced down at his bronze armour. ‘It certainly looks that way,’ he replied.

  ‘Takes more than a suit of armour and a few words to be a man of the Wyvern Guard. Takes steel and blood and heart.’ He tapped the centre of his breastplate. ‘Think you’ve got that in you?’

  Merrick fixed Cormach with as icy a glare as he could muster. He reckoned it came somewhere between frightened kitten and surprised washerwoman. ‘I know I have,’ he replied.